


JSTOR and Chill

by pythia



Category: The 100
Genre: F/M, Miller is right about everything, Slow Burn, painfully slow burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-04
Updated: 2017-04-04
Packaged: 2018-10-14 17:49:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,381
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10541469
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pythia/pseuds/pythia
Summary: Graduate school was a lot like World War I, as both were  wars of attrition, and by the end most of your friends didn’t come back alive, or at least as the same person. Bellamy Blake hoped that he would come out the latter, someone who had changed for the better.A slow burn that's mostly about Bellamy figuring out that he's wrong about everything. Bellamy is weirdly funny, or at least, I think he's funny.From the prompt  "Bellarke JSTOR and Chill" from Kayla, who sends me the best shit to write.Thank you to Rashaka for the beta and the direction, you are the best.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [raincityruckus](https://archiveofourown.org/users/raincityruckus/gifts).

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I made up literally everything about Northeastern because I've never been to Boston. Also, they have oldest World History program, accordig to Google. If I fucked up your city, or alma mater - I'm sorry! 
> 
> Thanks for reading my attempt at writing in third person.

Bellamy Blake applied to three history Ph.D. programs, but he desperately wanted to be at Northeastern University after meeting a large contingent of their history department at a World History conference in San Francisco. Everyone he met from the Northeastern program was really great. The department chair, Dr. Indra Washington, chaired an amazing panel at the conference discussing cultural appropriation in imperialist societies. She’d handled some very pointed questions were meant to slight some of the presenters, and entirely shut down a potential argument by proposing that both sides should consider co-authoring a paper for publication together.  Bellamy left the room clutching Dr. Washington’s contact card, and was already considering what to write in his statement of purpose for his application.  

Northeastern University was also conveniently in Boston, where Octavia lived with her gigantic, scary and revoltingly sweet boyfriend, Lincoln. They both loved the idea of having Bellamy in the city, since their last two Christmas celebrations had been held via Skype, while Bellamy finished his Master’s in History at the University of Hawai’i. He loved Hawai’i, it was a great place to grow up, but the cost of living and travel was ridiculous, particularly when living on a university stipend.

They hadn't seen each other, face to face in two years, and Bellamy really missed Octavia. Bellamy was pretty sure that if he didn't get into Northeastern that he would die. If dying didn’t work out, his other option was just go to Boston on his own, wait outside the history department until they got so sick of them they accepted him into their program.

After weeks of painful waiting, Bellamy was accepted into Northeastern’s history Ph.D program on an overcast Tuesday afternoon, while he was on the floor of his cubicle in the grad student office, trying to decide if it was better to buy Master’s robes or put three hundred dollars towards moving expenses. Suppressing a groan, Bellamy picked up the phone, spotting the Boston 617 area code. Octavia had probably gotten another new phone number; she seemed to change it every year.

“Bellamy Blake? This is Dr. Indra Washington from Northeastern University. I wanted to let you know that we’ve received and accepted your application and that we’ll be able to offer you full funding for the next five years, beginning this summer.”

He had spluttered a little as he accepted the position, uncertain of how exactly this had worked out for him, Bellamy Blake, the guy with terrible luck who couldn’t catch a break. Everything was so goddamn hard for the Blake family. Paying bills, getting into college, and just trying to get by on a daily basis. A scholarship like this meant the Blake family was getting back together. He would finally get to meet Lincoln face-to-face, and have proper family holidays with Octavia.

By May, Bellamy was in Boston and life was going his way--until he met his grad school nemesis, Clarke Griffin.  He’d made his way to Indra’s office for orientation, looking curiously at the various items that the faculty and adjuncts fixed to their office doors. Indra had greeted him warmly at her office door and insisted on using first names, saying, “The only people who are impressed by titles are folks who buy them online, or royalty.”

Clarke had arrived in Indra’s office first, looking at ease waiting in a chair before Indra’s desk. She shook Bellamy’s hand with a firm grip, looking him in the eye. There was a confidence there that Bellamy didn’t have. Until he’d gone to San Francisco last fall, Bellamy had never left Hawai’i. There was never enough money to do things like travel. Clarke seemed more like a real PhD student than Bellamy, who felt awkward and jetlagged from his flight.  She seemed to fit in effortlessly into the environment, offering him her business card, asking Indra important questions during their orientation, and doing it with a smile on her face. Bellamy didn't have a nice outfit, business card or certainly didn't fit in easily whenever he went.  

He tried to imagine what kind of parents would raise a woman like Clarke Griffin, and they had to be ex-KGB agents, like the Black Widow from the Avengers. It was difficult to imagine who else could have taught her how to navigate the world with the ease of an exotic tropical fish in a very expensive aquarium.  Bellamy might have been raised in Hawai’i, but he wasn’t super fond of exotic fish. She was something of a mystery, and Bellamy was frankly used to being the most adult person in any room that he walked into. Clarke took her level of adulting to an eleven, which is the primary reason why Bellamy decided to call her his graduate school nemesis. Whenever he’d stare at his reading for class, completely lacking any motivation, Bellamy would think to himself, “Clarke Griffin has already done her reading, researched the current publications about our reading, and typed up her notes. Don’t let Clarke Griffin win.” The quiet blonde was probably really nice, and likable, to someone out there. Bellamy just needed someone to compete with, even if it was only in his head.

Graduate school was a lot like World War I, as both were  wars of attrition, and by the end most of your friends didn’t come back alive, or at least as the same person. He hoped that he would come out the latter, someone who had changed for the better. Bellamy’s role was to assist on a major project for the digital humanities division, the main reason he’d started during the summer instead of in August.  With federal funding on the line, the project took over Bellamy’s life, and his hour-long commute only made it worse.  

As a result, Bellamy spent most of his time on campus working.  His roommate, Nathan Miller, was at Tufts working in Archaeology, but he was away for the summer on a big dig. They’d met on Reddit, exchanged polite emails, and did background checks before Nathan sent Bellamy his apartment keys via FedEx. For now, home was unfamiliar, and empty. Most of the other students in the department lived closer to campus, paying outrageous amounts of money for walk-up studio apartments. This difference in geography and coming to Boston during their summer semester made it more difficult for Bellamy to really meet anyone on campus.

A lot of the time, he found himself alone in the graduate student cubicle farm with Clarke Griffin.  Bellamy’s first impression of Clarke was not inaccurate, she proved to be incredibly gifted and very focused. After their first meeting, when Indra assigned their cubicles, and disappeared into her office, Clarke immediately unpacked her research that had been stored in a massive canvas tote bag she’d stashed in an empty office. She stayed at her desk long after Bellamy left for the night, and always seemed to arrive before him every morning, even when she didn’t have classes. Clarke seemed to be endlessly working, while also being endlessly put together. Her notes were typed, with sections for questions that she wanted to ask during their seminars, and included room to write down people’s responses. The Griffin family had to be ex-KGB. Mrs. Griffin was the Black Widow. It was the best fit explanation.

With Clarke’s status as a likely KGB operative, and workaholic, most of Bellamy’s social life during the summer semester revolved around his sister Octavia and her boyfriend Lincoln. Emerson, where Octavia was studying Performing Arts, was a fifteen minute train ride from Northeastern. The nights when Bellamy didn’t want to stay late at Northeastern or go back to an empty apartment, he took a train up to see Octavia.

At first, Bellamy was not excited to discover that his younger sister had a serious boyfriend that was his age. Their few Skype conversations on holidays hadn’t really done much to bond Lincoln and Bellamy as friends. Bellamy knew that Lincoln was a good guy, because Octavia wasn’t stupid, but he still worried because he was Octavia’s brother. Bellamy came to Boston knowing that Lincoln was quiet, a police officer, and was taking classes online to get his Master’s degree in Social Work. A lot of his anxieties disappeared when he discovered that Octavia wasn’t actually living with Lincoln, and still getting the full undergraduate experience. They were eating at cheap pizza joint off Boston Common when he finally broke and told Octavia how relieved he was about Lincoln. She’d laughed entirely too much, gasping out between breaths, “Bell, my room and board is included with my scholarship. Moving off campus is like, throwing money away.”

Depending on Lincoln’s work schedule, Bellamy would take the train out to Lincoln’s apartment in Somerville to hang out with Octavia and Lincoln. Lincoln lived in a rented house with his friend Monty, who worked as a research librarian at Harvard, and a constantly changing cast of roommates or Airbnb guests.  His life had become normal, and even included friends, like Monty, who was always up for talking about things other than academia. The guy was apparently a child genius who had finished his first PhD in Engineering by twenty. How Monty ended up a librarian at Harvard, was a total mystery to Bellamy. His favorite imagining cast Monty as someone had been burned by an advisor who turned out to be a supervillain. Improbable, but Monty didn’t seem interested in sharing that story.  May, June, and July disappeared quickly, with Bellamy enjoying his evenings with Octavia, Lincoln and Monty, working through their impressive collection of board games.  In August Bellamy’s quiet life was rudely interrupted by the start of the academic year at Northeastern, and the return of his  roommate, Nathan Miller.

Nathan turned out to be a pleasant surprise. He returned from his dig in Mexico with bags of dirty clothes, notebooks full of research notes, and really high-quality mezcal. He declared that he prefered to be called Miller, specialized in pre-Columbian societies, and spoke fluent Spanish. They spent their first night together as roommates sipping mezcal and huddling around the air conditioning unit. During the research trip Miller had been dumped by both his long-time boyfriend Brian, _and_ his thesis advisor, Dr. Sydney, who had stopped returning emails shortly before resigning from her tenured job. Miller had a lot on his plate, and needed a lot of mezcal to explain it.

 

“So yeah, he said that he couldn’t do the long-distance thing, because it seemed like it was more important for me to play Indiana Jones than be in a relationship.” Miller sighed impressively, “I’ve never gotten to punch a fascist, so I don’t really see the comparison.”

 

“I’ll buy you the hat for Halloween. That sucks about Brian. So far I feel like graduate school is the place where you make all of your life-long friends or you drop a lot of dead weight.” Bellamy sipped his mezcal, letting the alcohol roll around on his tongue. Miller advised him to do this when they started working their way through the bottle; apparently shooting mezcal was for idiots who didn’t know anything about alcohol.

 

Miller nodded and refilled their glasses, “Have you met anyone in your department? I can’t imagine starting in the summer like that. I bonded with everyone last year in our intro classes, and we’re pretty tight-knit. Even the MA students.”

 

Bellamy pictured Clarke Griffin, working away at her immaculate cubicle, and imagined being her friend. What would they talk about? How she organized her notes? Where to buy gigantic canvas tote bags? Even after sitting next to her in a mostly empty department and taking a couple of seminar classes together, he really didn’t know anything about Clarke Griffin. Bellamy hadn’t even bothered to Google her.

 

“I started working with this one woman, Clarke, but I don’t think we have anything in common. I don’t really know why I think that, it’s just a feeling. She’s good in class, takes ridiculous notes, but we’ve never really spoken about anything outside of class discussions.”

 

“That’s rough. You guys should just, do JSTOR and chill. Make friends. It’s going to be a long five years. Is she in your speciality?”

 

Bellamy was embarrassed to realize he’d never even asked Clarke what she was studying--then again, she hadn’t either. The guilty look on Bellamy’s face made Miller laugh.  “Dude, you gotta fix that. Five years is a long time. We’ll have a party for your department this month. Get drunk, talk shop, and then you’ll be best friends. I’ll bring my guys from Tufts, you’ll like them.”

A party sounded like both a good idea and a possible disaster. He could invite Octavia, Lincoln and Monty, because at least that way he’d know a couple people. “Alright,” he said, “We’ll have a party.”

 

Getting a Ph.D. was not the same as getting a Master’s. Bellamy knew he would have his work cut out for him, but the difference between his classes as a Master’s student in Hawai’i, and his coursework in Boston was substantial. The semester started at a sprint in August, with an epic amount of work due within the first week of classes. He was also still working on his summer project with the digital humanities folks, and Bellamy was supposed to start studying for his language exams with Miller, who promised to help him with his Spanish. It was during one of these study sessions, when Miller reminded him about their party as Bellamy agonized over a translation of an El Pais article.

“Hey - I talked to Raven and some of the guys in my department. Are you good to have everyone over next Saturday? It’ll be the day after we all get paid, so everyone will actually be able to bring stuff to drink,” Miller looked over at Bellamy’s translation, “Dude, you’re getting less terrible at Spanish. Just watch the vosotros stuff, it trips people up all the time.”

Bellamy looked up, scratching his eyebrow with the eraser of his pencil. His brain was thinking about historiography, the vosotros form and if his books were ever going to get delivered from Amazon. It took a minute for everything to completely sink in, “The party. People from Tufts. Got it. Yeah, next Saturday should be good. I’ll talk to everyone on Monday.”

 Miller snorted, “I made a Facebook event, I tried to tag you, but then I discovered you don’t have a Facebook. So, I tagged Octavia instead. Step one of having a social life - make a Facebook Bellamy. I’ll even help you set one up.”

Bellamy sighed and turned back to his translation, he really did not want to get a Facebook account.

Clarke Griffin was the first person to arrive on Saturday night, wearing ripped jeans and carrying a large bottle of whiskey. She settled down at his kitchen counter with a tumbler full of whiskey and Bellamy couldn’t think of a word to say to her. He could only really think about her neat lecture notes, precise answers in class, and her business card that got shoved into the middle drawer of his desk at school. Thank god for Miller.

“So, Clarke, I haven’t had a chance to stalk you yet on Facebook. So, tell me about yourself. Where are you from? What’s your dissertation about?” Miller added a handful of ice to his whiskey, and shot Bellamy an amused glance, his silence was apparently super awkward to everyone else.

Clarke squared her shoulders, and wrinkled her nose, as if she was thinking really hard about how to respond. “Uhhh, well. Okay. I’m from Washington D.C., my master’s thesis was on the history of women in medicine. So, my dissertation will probably be more about that stuff, which is funny because my mom is a doctor and really wanted me to be a doctor,” Clarke took a massive sip of her drink, “She’s super supportive about it, which is pretty nice. I think she’s more relieved that I didn’t become an artist, and that drawing is just a hobby.”

At Miller’s urging, Clarke whipped out her phone and showed them both tiny drawings of historical figures. She had a whole series of drawings called “Wee the People” that included a very cute, but sort of inaccurate pictures of historical figures like Genghis Khan, Jane Austen, and Ida B. Wells. It was then, that Clarke Griffin transformed into a giant history nerd, talking with Miller about her idea to make history comics online.

 “There are just so many jokes, right? Like, history is so weird and hilarious. I don’t even really need to make anything up,” she was grinning broadly while taking giant sips of her whiskey. Clarke looked relaxed and happy, the intensity and focused expression she wore at work was completely gone. Apparently, Clarke simply needed excellent whiskey, and to talk about art to really get excited. It was something that Bellamy could really relate to. Have a couple of drinks, talk about history and he’d open up to just about anyone. Miller was right. JSTOR and chill was really the way to go.

 Miller nodded in agreement, warming to the subject, “I saw some great pieces in Mexico that you’d love. The Aztecs are just so strange when you’re coming from an entirely western European perspective, you know?”

“I would love to see them sometime. But we really shouldn’t like, be art nerds all night, Bellamy looks kind of bored. Sorry, I get super intense,” Clarke grinned at Bellamy, “I think this is the most that you’ve probably ever heard me talk outside of class. The summer semester really kicked my ass.” Her tone was light, and a little confidential. It reminded Bellamy of the interviews that actresses give when doing press junkets, sharing tiny parts of their personal lives for the interviewer in an effort to somehow connect with whoever was watching, so they’d go see their movie. The trouble was that Clarke Griffin wasn’t an actress in a press junket, she seemed to really be trying to connect with him and Miller. It didn’t quite match with the professional coolness that he’d experienced over the summer. Bellamy might have completely misjudged Clarke Griffin, his pretend rival at Northeastern. The idea that he’d been wrong about someone in such a fundamental way, shook Bellamy a bit more than he cared to admit to himself.

 

“Yeah, but starting all alone in the summer term was really intense. I don’t think really I talked to anyone that wasn’t working on my project or related to me all summer,” Bellamy admitted, taking the offered conversational tack from Clarke and ran with it.

 

“Oh, you know people in Boston? I thought you were from Hawai’i? I remember Indra mentioning that when she introduced you,” Clarke frowned at her empty drink, tucking a stray lock of blonde hair behind her ear, “My drink is broken.” Miller laughed and grabbed her bottle of whiskey, filling her tumbler up for a second time.

 

Before Bellamy could respond, someone knocked loudly on their front door and then opened it, a total Octavia move that Bellamy remembered too well from when they lived together as kids. It made for some awkward moments. Clearly, two years of college education and living in a dorm hadn’t taught Octavia to knock and then wait to see if it was okay to enter a room. She swept inside the apartment, with Lincoln and Monty in tow, wearing an improbable outfit that looked like a deconstructed kimono and cut off jean shorts.

 

“Hello people that I don’t know, I’m Octavia Blake, the better Blake. This is Lincoln, my boyfriend, and our friend Monty, who’s also Lincoln’s roommate,” Octavia grinned at Miller, sticking out her hand in greeting. Lincoln set down the case of beer that he was holding and waved, giving Bellamy a nod in greeting. Monty’s ears turned a curious shade of red around the edges when he shook Miller’s hand. That was something that Bellamy would file away for later, and ask Monty about when they’d had either too much or too little to drink.

 

“Wow, hi. I’m Clarke Griffin. I go to Northeastern with Bellamy, I was just asking him if he knew anyone before moving to Boston, so you have the best timing ever,” Clarke shook Octavia’s hand and offered her an empty tumbler, “We’re starting with whiskey, if y’all are interested. It was my dad’s so, it’s the good stuff.”

 

As everyone took glasses of the offered whiskey and moved into the living room, as more people from Tufts and Northeastern began to arrive. It turned out that Miller and Bellamy’s departments had fairly significant social connections, or knew about each other through other friends. Bellamy felt himself begin to relax incrementally with each sip of his drink. He’d made friends with Jasper, who was in Miller’s program and specialized in the classical Mediterranean. Bellamy had done his undergraduate work on classical Rome, and they’d sat there for twenty minutes, sharing their favorite bits of Roman history when Jasper suddenly sat up straight, and started cracking up.

 

“Holy shit. Did you name your sister? Please tell me that you got your mom to name Octavia, Octavia, because you’re a giant nerd. That would honestly make you my hero, for all time,” Jasper grinned at Bellamy expectantly, hoping that he’d confirm his theory. Bellamy sighed, knowing  that Jasper was about to have a field day. He was a nerd, even when he was four years old.

 

“Ok, you got me. Someone got me this book on Roman History for kids, one of those with all the pictures? I really liked how the Romans numbered their kids. I also really liked the idea of being a Roman emperor. That’s what I wanted to do when I grew up,” Bellamy polished off his glass of whiskey, and listened to Jasper hoot with laughter.

 

“You are the coolest person ever. Seriously. My hero.” Jasper playfully slapped Bellamy on the back, before standing up. He gestured to Bellamy’s empty glass, wordlessly asking if he wanted a refill. Bellamy shook his head, which was a totally bad idea after having so much whiskey to drink.

 

Jasper wandered off, and Bellamy took a furtive look at Clarke, who was off in a corner talking with Harper from their program. They were both laughing and looking at Harper’s phone, something was obviously hilarious on the internet. One of Miller’s friends Raven Reyes, bounced over, beer in hand, and exclaimed, “Clarke Griffin, as I live and breathe! What the hell are you doing in Boston? I thought you were still in DC?”

 

Clarked looked up from Harper’s phone, her expression going dark for a split second, and then brightening, she seemed to seem actually happy to see the woman. “Hi Raven! It was a bit of a last minute thing, I didn’t really talk to anyone except for my mom about leaving D.C. Spring semester was pretty rough. I honestly would have called you, but I didn’t think you’d really want to hang out with me, considering everything.”

 

Raven shook her head, brown ponytail bouncing back and forth, “Unacceptable Clarke. We are bonded for life, like shield sisters, and you need to accept that you honestly, did nothing wrong. In order to make up for not calling me the second you got here, you have to take a penalty shot for every month that you’ve been here and didn’t call me.” Raven pointed at Harper, “Come on, we’re doing shots in the kitchen.” She grabbed Clarke’s hand, and turned around, marching towards the kitchen. Clarke grinned at Harper, handing back her phone with a shrug, “I’ve been here four months, it can’t be that bad, right?” Harper laughed and followed in their wake.

 

There was clearly a story there that Bellamy wanted to know, but before he could follow them into the kitchen, Monty flopped down on the couch and stared at Bellamy plaintively, “Please tell me that Miller is gay and that you’ll help me talk to him without the aid of alcohol.” He was clearly not going anywhere for awhile, and the mystery of Raven and Clarke would have to wait for another day.

 

Bellamy didn’t have to wait an entire day, but about two hours. He was sitting on the steps of their walkup, trying to get away from the loud music and conversations for a minute. He was having fun, Miller was entirely right about having a party, but Bellamy really needed a second to himself. He’d drank quite a bit, and while he wasn’t driving anywhere, Bellamy didn’t need to be ridiculously drunk the first time he hung out with people from school.

 

“Bellamy, I know I don’t know you very well, but I need you to stage a friendtervention. Please don’t let Raven give me any more penalty shots for not calling her,” Clarke flopped down on the steps, a little unsteady in her landing and starting picking at the threads of her ripped jeans.

 

“Well, you’ve appealed to the big brother parts of me, so that can totally be arranged. I just didn’t peg you for being a shots kind of woman, you know?” Bellamy tried to keep the surprise out of his voice, and act cool. Drunk Clarke Griffin, wearing ripped jeans and doing shots in his kitchen was seriously messing with him. Again, he had to own up to misjudging Clarke Griffin, in a serious way.

 

“Hey, I am totally a shots kind of woman. I am totally a drinking game kind of woman too. I can be fun. Just not when I have to be responsible, or when I’ve been having a shitty semester,” Clarke rubbed her face in her hands and looked at Bellamy from the corner of her eye, “I can be fun, Bellamy Blake. I just haven’t had cause to be fun.” Her voice was a little muffled by her hands, that still covered most of her face, as if Clarke couldn’t speak directly to Bellamy while looking at him.

 

Bellamy nodded, then realized that Clarke wasn’t looking at him anymore, and said, “Yeah, I believe you. You look like you’re having fun. I hope you’re having fun at least, that’s kinda the point of having a party. Bring everyone together. Have some fun.”

 

She uncovered her face, and Clarke looked remarkably sober for someone who’d drank two tumblers of whiskey and four penalty shots. “I am having fun. I wasn’t expecting to see Raven. Hell, I wasn’t expecting to see Raven, and have her not punch me in the face.”  

 

“Jesus, what the hell happened?” Bellamy said without thinking, and then winced. Clearly, whatever happened between her and Raven was a source of pain for Clarke. He shouldn’t be just asking about it like a drunk idiot. He shook himself mentally, “Sorry, that was the booze talking, I’m sorry. You don’t have to tell me. I’m just sorry that seeing Raven here was such a shock to you. I’m glad that you’re still having fun, and that it didn’t fuck up your night.”

 

She waved her hand, “No, no. It’s cool. I’ve had enough to drink that talking about it won’t bug me a ton. I met Raven because her boyfriend was in my graduate program fall semester, and didn’t tell me that he had a long-distance girlfriend studying at MIT. He had two Facebook accounts to keep us separate. That’s how I found Raven. Facebook suggested that I should add his second account, and I saw that he listed Raven as his girlfriend. So, I called Finn, broke up with him, and then messaged Raven on Facebook to let her know what happened. She was really nice about it, but I deactivated my account after, I didn’t want to talk to anyone about it.”

 

Bellamy whistled, “That is really fucked up. I hope someone punched him.”  Clarke shrugged and stared off into the dark street, watching cars circle the block, obviously looking for somewhere to park.

 

“It wasn’t that bad. This semester was definitely worse. My girlfriend, Lexa, stabbed me in the back for a fellowship at the Women’s History Museum in D.C. on the same day that my dad died. He was an engineer, and it was an accident on a job site. So, when I got accepted into Northeastern, I left DC without telling anyone, but my mom. I reactivated my Facebook account last week, when I got your invite, so everyone could yell at me about leaving without saying goodbye.”  Her voice was even and a little cool, Bellamy realized the same tone she used when dissecting a text in class. He was impressed by how she kept it all together after such a horrible year.

 

“Jesus, maybe you need more than four shots. I’m sorry 2016 was such a shitty year for you, I’m really sorry about your dad.” Bellamy tried not to squirm uncomfortably, because Clarke’s story just explained her distant, cool, and professional behavior at school. She wasn’t KGB. There was no rivalry. School was just her safe space. There, she could be in charge, comprehend whatever was going on and work on finding a solution. Bellamy did that a lot during his Master’s program, whenever missing Octavia and his mother became too much for him. Taking on responsibilities, helping other people was almost an addictive way of not dealing with his problems during those years.  

 

“Thanks. Moving away from everything really helped. It was a shitty thing to do, but it did help me get through those rough months.” She shrugged, and looked over at Bellamy, “What about you? You honestly turned into a different person when your sister showed up. I had you pegged as like, this badass ladies man, who was just super focused on work and being cool. I didn’t expect you to light up like that around her. You guys must be really close.”

 

It took a minute to digest everything that Clarke said. She’d noticed him with his sister, and admitted to wondering what he was like, during all of those months of working in the empty graduate office, late into the night.

 

“Well, I haven’t really seen Octavia in two years. She got a scholarship to come to Emerson, right around the time that our mom died in a car accident. I wasn’t making enough money for  the state of Hawai’i's liking, so Octavia moved into a group home for the last semester of her senior year. By the time she turned 18, it was time for her to come out here for school.  Me getting into Northeastern really worked out for us both. Until I came out here, I’d only ever left Hawai’i once, for a conference that I got a scholarship for,” Bellamy felt a little weird, putting it all out there for Clarke, but considering what she’d just told him and the amount of alcohol they’d drank, it seemed like it was safe to do.  

  
“I’m really sorry about your mom. I can’t imagine going through all that without Octavia around all the time. My mom and I don’t always get along, but she was there for me. You’ve got a lot of time to make up for as a big brother. It’s cool how it all worked out for you, after all that shit,” Clarke rubbed her face again, as if she was trying to wake up or sober up. “You and I probably beat out everyone in the department for ‘most tragic backstory.’ We put a good face on it. Right? Do your work the best you can, help everyone you can and hope that everything stops being terrible at some point.” She bumped her shoulder playfully against Bellamy’s, before standing up. “I need to get some water, so I’m not hung over while reading Foucault tomorrow morning.” Clarke offered her hand, and pulled Bellamy up, each a little unsteady on their feet as they made their way back inside. Miller had been so right about having a party, and Bellamy made it a personal rule to just listen to Miller about everything, from now on. He clearly knew what he was doing.


End file.
